


French Kisses Down Under

by LizLuvsCupcakes



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Bottom Sniper, Cis!Spy, Dom Spy, M/M, Mentions of abusive ex, Mentions of past abuse, Smut, So if that bothers you maybe read something else, Top Spy, Vaginal Sex, he's not in this story just mentioned, sex phobia, trans!Sniper, trans!male character, vaginal sex with a trans character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-10-25 09:21:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20721875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LizLuvsCupcakes/pseuds/LizLuvsCupcakes
Summary: I noticed that there's a lot of smut involving trans TF2 characters, but none involving Knife Party. Then I found out Knife Party was also called "French Kisses Down Under," and here we are.Also, in addition to the act itself, there are mentions of Sniper's abusive ex and his past before he transitioned. So there's that to keep in mind.





	French Kisses Down Under

“How do I seduce you?”

The Sniper glanced up from the gun he’d been reassembling, certain he’d misheard the masked gentleman who had apparated into his house. Again. “Uh… sorry, what?”

The Spy sighed and twirled his cigarette between his fingers. “I was certain that was very straight forward, bushman. I would like to seduce you. Bed with you. And I do not know how. I have been trying, but I would like further instruction. Please, enlighten me.”

The sniper didn’t look up, though he could feel the spy’s analytical gaze boring into him. He waited for the Spy to laugh at him for being so stupid, for actually believing Spy wanted to go to bed with him, for ever thinking the single classiest mercinary on the team would stick it in the resident bushman. It was a dumb belief, but for a second, he’d actually been convicted Spy was serious.

“Lawrence. _Please_.” His voice was pleading and desperate. The kind of tone you just can't fake for a prank.

Christ, he was serious. Of course, it would be obvious to anyone when he'd mentioned the encounter later. What with everything that had been going on, Spy had made his affection for the sniper very obvious. Not big gestures, mind you. Just a spare medkit in the nest where he knew he hadn't left it, food left in his camper when he'd forgotten to eat, the occasional sharp whisper from behind, “your aim is going. Sleep or you won't know a Spy from a tree,” in a voice that was not his, but when he'd look, there'd be no one there.

Sure, he’d fantasized about this kind of proposal from him, but that was just wank material. Just a fantasy. Nothing he’d actually believed could happen. Or… believed should happen.

“Uh,” he swallowed, setting down the scope he’d been about to reattach. “W-well, I mean… Look, you’re into blokes, right?”

“With a few exceptions, yes.”

“Well, see, the thing is, I'm not- I mean, I am, but- see, thing is, I wasn't… ” he bit his lip, uncertain of himself. Really, how do you go about telling somebody who wants to sleep with you that you aren't even a real man?

The Spy took hold of his chin, tilting his head up so their eyes locked. “The matter of your anatomy, Mon Cheri, will not be an issue. I am more than capable of pleasuring men of your particular variety.”

Lawrence stared back up into the icy eyes that promised so much, heart hammering in his chest. Oh Christ. Oh fuck. He knew. The spook bloody knew. Well, of course he does, he knows everything about everyone. And particularly, with the weird advances he'd been making on Sniper, it was inevitable he'd unearth the information in some way or another. He'd probably interrogated the doc.

“You-” his voice was a bit higher than he'd like before he cleared his throat. “-you know?”

“Yes.”

“A-and… and you still… wanna?”

“Do you?”

A brief pause, during which Lawrence realized he didn't know the answer. He turned away from Spy’s gaze and was overwhelmed with relief when the spook let go. “... it’s just… I'm not sure how good I'd be,” he admitted.

“Mon chéri, you are far too worried about this,” Spy chided as he sat on the couch beside him. “It is a very simple matter, simply tell me what excites you. Why on earth are you acting so frightened? Merdé, one would think you were a virgin.”

Sniper didn't say anything. The smirk on Spy's face vanished, suddenly replaced by a look of confusion. “... Lawrence…” he began softly. “Would this be-”

“No,” he nearly snapped. “No ones’ ever done that before. To me. With me, I mean.”

Not for lack of trying, of course. Before he'd run away to become himself, back when he was still in his final year of Uni, he'd had a boyfriend. Well… he'd called himself his boyfriend, and Lawrence had never refuted this, as he typically kept people from bothering him and was fine with sitting in silence with his pretty, quiet “girlfriend” who never argued with him… in fact, <strike>she</strike> he never said much of anything to him.

The thing was, Chad was very… loud. Not like Scout, who was interested in conversations that lasted forever, he'd just liked to hear his voice. And he talked a lot, bragging boisterously to his “girlfriend” about how many notches in his belt he had, and how he was going to add “<strike>her</strike> his cute little ass” to his list of conquests. And he was not shy about how incredibly uncomfortable this process would be.

“You're gonna feel like I'm ripping you apart from the inside, darl, gonna have half of your guts on the bed.” “It's so big you're not gonna sit for a month, love. Get used to standing.” “I'm gonna leave you trembling, wasp. Just a mess of blood and tears. I've done it to cuter sluts than you.” Almost always said with a harsh pull at his hair, and in a rough, coarse whisper into his ear.

Usually, he was able to grunt in agreement, wrench his hair free and move on. But near the end, he'd heard these promises of his first time being wrung with agony and no way to get out of it that one night, when he and Chad were drinking in his apartment, Chad only needed to say “it’s time” and unzip his pants before Lawrence lost his shit.

He couldn't tell you what happened to him. All he knew was when he got home and slammed the door, blood was all over his hands, but there was no pain.

So, yeah. Chad had made sex seem completely hellish for one of the two parties involved.

Spy’s approach, however, was a bit different.

“Ah, mon Cheri,” he said softly, reaching out and gently taking Sniper by the hand. He reached up and tilted the Australians chin toward him again, this time with a bit more reluctance on Lawrence’s part. “I am terribly sorry. If I had known, I would have been a bit more tactful.”

“‘S’fine,” he muttered, not really wanting to look up.

“It is not. I had intended this to be an experience we could both enjoy. That's no good if you're inexperienced and frightened.”

His cheeks flushed. Spy made him sound like some kind of scared virgin. But… wasn't that exactly what he was? No. No, of course not, he wasn't scared, he just didn't want to be in pain. Nothing wrong with that.

Still, the chiding laughter of his absolute prick of a boyfriend at his silly, cute little fear of losing his virginity echoed in his ears.

“Lawrence, look at me.”

He did. Spy took a moment to glance over the details of Sniper’s face, his lips pressed into a soft grimace. Then, he smiled.

“Green,” he said quietly. “I would not have expected that.”

“Yours are blue,” Sniper returned numbly, heart fluttering.

They sat there like that for a while, before Sniper finally swallowed and spoke.

“Well… I'd wanna know your name, for one.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You asked how you could get me in bed, right? That's step one. Though I guess it's less about turnin’ me on and more… I just don't know you.”

Maybe it was just him being silly, or years of his mum’s warnings not to sleep around with strangers that never really went away. But he wanted to at least know the face of the person who he was about to share the most intimate possible human experience with.

The spook hesitated. And for a split second, Sniper thought he had gone too far. But then he replied, “Of course, Mon Cher. Anything else?”

“I…” he swallowed hard. “Your face. I'd need to see your face.”

The silence that followed this request was deafening. Well, this was it for sure. He was gonna hear that and nope the fuck out of this whole thing and he'd never be touched like anyone, just like Chad said, he was his one chance at not dying a virgin and he fucked it up, he'd fucked them both up-

The Frenchman chuckled. “Oh, bushman, is that it?” His laugh was a soft, rumbling thing, like the ringing of a giant church bell. “Ma jolie petite fleur, if I had known that all you wanted was a name and a face, we could have begun months ago.”

Months… wait, months? Did Spy mean-? No, no time. He started to pull off his stained, white undershirt when the Spy took hold of his wrist.

“No. Not here.” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a pair of tiny bottles. “In my quarters. Stop by the showers first.” One hand fiddled with a few strands of hair that was a bit more mussed than it normally would have been. (They were in a ceasefire, he didn't have to go out often, so he didn't shower! Give him a break!)

As the Frenchman stood and strode to the door, he hesitated. “And bushman?” He glanced back with a kind of gleam in his eyes that sent chills down sniper's back. “Wash _everywhere_. With that. Understood?”

He looked down at the bottles, and upon reading their labels, he immediately understood and wasn't sure if he was insulted or not. Part of him wanted to throw the bottles back at the spook and tell him to stuff it, but on the other hand… something about the command filled him with a kind of excitement he couldn't identify. “Yeah, sure,” he finally said.

“Good boy.”

And with that, he stepped out of the camper, allowing the door to swing shut behind him. Lawrence watched out the window as he walked to the base, never before so captivated by the elegant stride of the resident master of espionage.

~~~

Contrary to popular belief, Lawrence Mundy did not live like a savage.

Granted, he didn't pluck and preen himself the way he used to, before he was a Sniper, but he was a professional. And images mattered in terms of professionalism. What people think of you when they see (or smell) you could make or break your career for the rest of your life. And, yeah, the piss-throwing was a thing, but that was a hard-earned skill that he wasn't going to give up on just because it was gross.

The point being, when he was on the battlefield, despite the horror going on around him, his shirt was tucked and he was by no means scruffy. However, when he was in the privacy of his own camper, he could do whatever the hell he wanted. He usually just wanted to sleep, not waste time maintaining his beauty.

You can see, therefore, why it was a little weird being ordered to take a shower by a bloody spy on a day he was supposed to have off. Christ, he'd just wanted to clean his gun and sleep until he had to go back to shooting blokes in the face.

He stepped into the shower and set down the bottles, which turned out to contain soap and shampoo respectively, glowering at them like they'd personally offended him as he disrobed.

It wasn't that he didn't like showering. It was just that there were usually more important things to do. In this case, seeing his fantasy with Spy through to fruition and ridding himself of this silly little fear.

And… okay, maybe it felt just a little bit funny to see himself naked. After all this time, all the work he'd put into becoming who he was, into getting everyone to accept him as Lawrence Mundy, then just getting into the shower… not that he'd ever let it take his hard won confidence, but it would never not be weird to look down and see himself with tits.

However, without thinking about it, the whole affair was over quickly, and within minutes, Lawrence was walking, slightly damp, to the Spy's quarters.

He had made sure the task of scrubbing down was quick and mindless, not wanting to spend more time staring down at himself than he had to. But oddly enough, there wasn't a lot of time spent staring. Most of it was spent thinking. And even now, enveloped in a robe that had been waiting with a note reading, “use this,” his mind was still racing.

This was really going to happen. It wasn't some bizarre fantasy, cooked up by horniness and lack of options, Spy really wanted to fuck him. Which was… good. At least it wasn't Chad. But even if it wasn't… well, he wasn't convinced by the stories of his own size. All of his previous partners had refused to answer his calls for some reason, and if he ever asked if it was true, he'd always goad, “wanna see, darl? You askin’ for it?”

He always asked, you could give it that.

Even if it wasn't as big as he'd said… Shit, he didn't even like tampons. Had tried to use them once. Sworn to never touch one again. He avoided the showers with the others in them on principle, but he knew from certain (cough) literature how well-endowed the average bloke was supposed to be. He always felt primal terror, every time he thought of that happening in his own hole. Stretching, possibly ripping, was there blood? How much had Chad been exaggerating that it hurt? Then there was the whole hymen thing, he could never get that straight, if that was going to hurt or not. Nobody seemed to know and everyone he asked had said something different.

Even if it didn't… what if he was bad at it? What if he truly was just a mess of sweat and tears and Spy decided he wasn't worth the effort?

Well, now was the time to find out; he was approaching the furthest door at the end of the base, behind which was the Spy, with some fantasy in store that Sniper wasn't sure he wasn't sure he wanted to know about.

He took a deep breath and knocked as softly as he could, and when it opened, he wasn't sure if he had the right room.

A man was standing in the door, black hair with a single streak of grey, looking as though it might have once been slicked back and shiny, but mussed with the removal of a mask, and bearing a face that looked like it was sculpted by angels. It was only when he noticed the odd tan lines that he realized that this was, indeed, Spy’s room, and he'd fulfilled one of the two requests.

“Ah, there you are, Mon Cher. Come in, come,” he urged softly, looking at him as if it were the greatest honour of a lifetime to see him there, wearing his robe, still damp from his shower.

Sniper stepped inside, and was immediately struck by how organized he was. The lights were on, the bed was made with a large down comforter and fine, silk sheets.

The door shut, and after a beat of silence, “Francis.”

“Sorry?”

“Francis. My name is Francis.” He turned to Lawrence with a kind of smile that he hadn't seen before. “My name was one of your conditions, yes?”

“I--” he swallowed hard. “I, uh-”

“Ssh.” He gently caressed Sniper’s damp hair, which sent a sensation of goosebumps down his back. “You have curly hair. I'd never noticed.”

Lawrence half smiled. “Uh, it gets like this when I wash it,” he tried awkwardly.

The spook- Francis- chuckled quietly, nuzzling his face into the crook of Sniper’s neck. He took a deep sniff, sighed, as if the smell was itself intoxicating, and drew another two similarly before breaking away.

It was a small act of intimacy. Like those before it, it may have been nothing more than Francis appreciating the smell of the soaps he had given Lawrence (they'd stung and reeked so bad, they had to be expensive, one could only wonder why he wasted them on him), but then again, it could've also been his attempts to start up the motor, to make this act as good for Lawrence as it was for Francis. Well if that was the goal, then he was doing a bloody brilliant job of it. Each sniff made him shudder and left him trembling in their wake.

“Are you familiar with the mechanics?” He asked, his breath deepening and voice raspy.

Lawrence nodded, feeling a warmth blossom in his belly.

“Good. Then let's get you out of this.”

He untied the robe and helped Sniper shrug out of it, stepping back for a second as if trying to commit this image of him, naked and petrified, to memory. Lawrence, to his credit, did nothing to impede his gaze, he just stood there, bare to the world except for his binder, which the spook seemed to be zoning in on.

“No. No no no no no,” he gasped, moving back as Spy’s hand reached up to unhook it.

“How long has it been on?” The Frenchman asked in a softer voice than Sniper had ever heard from him.

He turned away a little. “Uh… y’know… two… three days now.” He'd showered with it on; hadn't wanted to trigger an episode of not belonging in his own body, not now, not before… this.

“Fleur. You know that isn't good for you.” He felt gentle, strong, warm arms wrap around him, pulling him close to Spy, who had nothing but a white shirt and a pair of briefs. There was heat as the briefs pressed into the back of his legs. It was tensing. Tightening.

“I… I can't take it off… Francis, fuck. I can't,” the last word was desperate and pleading as Spy’s hands became more adventurous, one hand sliding down his tummy as the other caressed his face. Neither went for his chest. Chad was insistent on grabbing his tits so hard they bruised. Spy made it clear he was avoiding that very faux pas.

Francis didn't speak for a moment, and not seeing him was infuriating. Was he angry? Disappointed? Turned on? What was he going-?

Finally, he said in a soft, sultry voice, “of course, mon Cheri. It stays on for as long as you like.” There was a gentle kiss at his ear, one which ended with a teasing nibble that immediately cranked the Aussie’s motor.

“Now, shall we begin?”

Spy spun him on the spot, pressing him back into the bed with a kiss that sent the world into a tilt. Or maybe that was just him, lying on his back on Francis’s bed, as the Spy kissed him with a kind of frenzied passion. He kissed back, hard and desperate as between his legs began to wake up, as if even down there it knew what was coming, and oh God, it wanted it more than he did.

Eventually, the kiss broke, and Francis smiled hazily. “Let me see what I am working with _down under,_” he crooned.

“Wha-?”

“This is your first time, isn't it? We need to get you ready first,” he continued his kissing of Lawrence’s neck.

Lawrence nodded, and whimpered as he sucked a large, purple welt into his neck. Just above his collar bone. Gentle nips, hard sucks, nothing to break the skin. Just enough to leave a mark. Becoming steadily more gentle and less bites But holy bloody Dooley, it drove him fucking insane.

He kissed slowly down his chest and past his belly, smiling to himself as the scrawniest twink in Australia squirmed and twitched, his sensitive skin prime for ticklishness. But Francis continued down, until finally he was so, so, so close, chin just barely resting against where he wanted those kisses. He sat like that, appreciating the frenzy he'd worked his partner into. Lawrence’s breath came in huffs and gasps, and he was gripping the blanket as a sheen of sweat broke over him.

“_aaah, quelle petite fleur sensible._” Finally, the spook gently nudged his thighs apart, spreading him with his fingers and appreciating just how pink he was down here. Pink and pretty like the inside of a rose petal, and if memory served, he was going to be just as soft.

“Do you want me to kiss you here?”

Lawrence could only nod, not daring to trust his voice.

“Did you wash?”

Lawrence whined and squirmed impatiently; he’d brought back the fucking empty bottles, did he want Sniper to describe the process?

Francis chuckled, breath whispering on his most sensitive, desperate parts. “So excited. Ah, but so much shivering. You really are a virgin, aren't you?” His voice was teasing, but with a note of gentleness. There was no meanness there.

Fuck. Fuck. Why the fuck was the Spook doing this? The wait was driving him wild, and the heavy, hot breath against his cunt wasn't helping. “S… Sp… Spook, p… Christ, _please!_”

He hesitated, but finally did as he'd promised, planting a hot, sloppy kiss on the sensitive knot of flesh. He licked, he slurped, and as his tongue probed around his hole, Lawrence nearly felt a moan squeezed out of him. Waves of pleasure rolled up from his crotch, and he clamped his hands tightly over his mouth, because if he let himself make the kinds of noises that were coming from his throat, the entire base would surely be here for the free show.

“Mmhm,” Francis hummed into him, which is course made things worse, but better, much much better, “dearest, you taste-” he interrupted himself with a lick up the length of his cunt, “-so good. You've done such a good job washing down here. You're so wet-” he slurped again, “-and pink-” another, a bit higher up, and immediately the Marksman knew where he was going to kiss next, “-and lovely.”

“Sh- shut up,” he whined, without even the ability to falsify venom. Then the Spy found that little nub hidden between his folds, and it was like there was an explosion of pure pleasure up from his crotch. Oh Christ, holy shit, this was never in any of his fantasies, but holy shit, it was everything he'd ever wanted.

The Spy seemed to notice the muffled whimpers and cries that should have been moans bordering on screams at this point, and glanced up to see Lawrence, sweaty and with eyes screwed shut, one hand clamped tightly over his mouth and the other squeezing down over that. “Oh, Mon Fleur, don't do that, I want to hear your pretty noises,” he crooned, taking hold of his lovers elbows and pulling his hands free, simultaneously planting another kiss right on his clit. In response, Sniper’s hips jerked and he gasped as if he'd been punched, then released a low, reedy moan through his teeth. “Much better, _il y a un très bon garçon._”

He held Sniper’s hands in his own as his tongue probed around curiously. Without them over his mouth to muffle his cries, Lawrence seemed to lose whatever sense of civility he had left, moaning and whining through gritted teeth as his hips bucked and jerked involuntarily.

Then Spy really stepped up his game.

A finger gently probed his hole. It didn't go in far, just rolled in and out a few times. But it was enough to feel the hot, wet tenseness of Sniper's insides clamping down on it, trying to squeeze every ounce of goodness out of it they could. And then it was joined by a second. Maybe they were slender or the preparation was working, but he didn't feel any awful ripping or tearing or any kind of pain. It all felt good. Every touch felt so, so good. His brain was melting, and he was lost in a haze of impossible pleasure where thoughts were impossible and any language, other than to beg for more, was nonsense.

It stopped. The licking, kissing down under, at least, had stopped, but Francis was still rolling his fingers in and out, slowly wiggling them inside him. Lawrence glanced down to see what was happening, and was far too hazy to understand for a moment. The Spy was smiling to himself, the lower half of his face glistening wet with slick and sweat and spit. The look in his eyes… how many times had he seen it in Chad’s? Unrestrained lust, unrestrained hunger, diluted by something he wasn't sure he could identify.

“You're so tight, mon amor,” he murmured huskily. “But you're nearly ready. We just need you to relax a bit more. One quick orgasm should do it.”

Lawrence was confused, then abruptly understood. Suddenly, the good feeling was cut through by a sharp, terrifying realization. This wasn't the main event, this was all preparation.

Spy was getting him ready.

Spy still wanted to fuck him.

_He's gonna rip you open, you're not gonna be able to fucking breathe, blood everywhere, worse than any fucking period, hope you enjoyed getting eaten out cuz that's the end of feeling good, it's all agony from here-_

“Stop,” he whispered, just as Spy dove back in. “_Francis!!_” He nearly screamed, and he must have heard the note of absolute terror rising in his voice as the Spook nibbled at his clit.

Francis pulled away, concern etching his face as he considered what he could have done wrong.

“What is it, dear?” He asked calmly, steadily. Like he was trying to reassure his partner without knowing the problem and only using four words. Four perfect words in that holy shit fucking hot, husky accented voice.

“Does-” he swallowed back the cracking in his voice. Damn it, he sounded like he was on the edge of fucking crying, what must the spook have thought of him? The piss-throwing, machete-wielding badass barely suffocating tears at the thought of losing his virginity. “Does it... F-Francis, does it hurt?” He asked finally. Plaintively, like a small child.

_What a stupid question. Of course it bloody hurts, why on earth would Chad go on and on about how much it was gonna hurt when he deflowers you if it wasn't gonna hurt? Just grow the fuck up and take it you-_

His terrified self-loathing was interrupted with a kiss. He didn't notice the Spy come up, and didn't even care that he was suddenly tasting himself. A finger or two stayed inside, he could feel them, and was trembling on them. They didn't particularly hurt. He didn't think he was bleeding (but then again, he wasn't thinking much at all).

“It doesn't have to,” Francis murmured softly when they broke the kiss. “It can, if we aren't careful, and slow… unless, do you want it to?”

“No,” the Australian was whimpering, shaking his head and trembling as he clutched at the Spy, his eyes burning just a bit as he plead in the negative. “No, no I don't, don't want it to, please, please don't-”

“Shhhhh,” The Frenchman caressed his face, gently stroking back damp, curly hair. “sh, sh, sh, sh, sh, _facile là-bas, prenez une respiration._” A beat or two of silence passed, as he allowed Lawrence to do just that. A few moments and deep breaths later, Francis finally spoke again. “There's no need to worry, Mon Couer. I am very experienced, and you are nearly ready. We just need to get you completely relaxed, and it won't hurt a bit.” He hesitated, as if he really didn't want to say what he was about to. “... do you want to stop?”

Okay. If the actually-feeling-good thing hadn't caught him off guard, then that did. You could do that? Just… just stop? No questions, no more fingers or licking or need to reciprocate, but if he told Francis he wanted this to end, then… it would? That had never been an option. Not with Chad, not in the stuff he'd read, no one had ever told him that that was an option.

But did he want it to?

He looked up at Francis. Handsome. Older. Lusty. But there was something else there. Affection, a kind of appreciation for him that nobody had ever stared at him with before. But it filled the icy eyes to the brim, the only thing there, other than his concern, to temper his lust.

“... fuckin’ hell, you're pretty,” he sighed, touching the Spy’s stubbly, damp cheek and running his fingers through grey-streaked hair. “No. No, I wanna… I wanna do this.” And with that came a kind of renewed excitement, because all those times Chad had talked, he'd wanted to take Sniper's virginity, add it to his index roll of bragging rights. And every novel he'd read, it happened because the dick-user wanted it, the one with nuts needed it. The other party never much came into account… he had never much come into account. And now, the way Spy looked at him, the way Spy played with him, it excited him in a way he never had been before.

Francis smiled. “Then let us continue. There’s just one more thing we need to do first.” His fingers withdrew from him with a sucking sound that made Lawrence whimper and squirm with need. He was met with a gentle pinch on his clitoris that brought the pitch of his whine up about six octaves. His hips bucked up into the touch, and the pinching turned into rubbing, and suddenly his need skyrocketed.

He couldn't breathe. The damn binder, soaked with sweat, was restricting his chest. Usually not a problem, but fuck, he needed, just fucking needed. He fumbled with the clasps and it came away, giving way to a loud gasp that fueled ever more babbling for more. Begging for more.

Spy chuckled to himself. The rubbing stopped just as Lawrence was about to reach his crescendo. He made a noise of affronted demand, and was met with a smirk and a command even more simple than “wash everywhere”; “rub it.”

The marksman didn't need telling twice. His right hand immediately dove down and rubbed the little knot of flesh frantically and eagerly, hips rocking for more friction. “Oh fuck,” he panted as he got dangerously close to the tipping point. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, _ohhh FUCK!!_” Over and over as he rubbed for all he was worth.

Spy watched as he did this, kneeling on the floor and staring at the hypnotic motion of Sniper’s hand. Finally, he slid his middle finger into the hole, all the way down to the hilt, and Sniper nearly whited out. He tried to squeeze his knees together, but Spy kept one hand firmly on his knee, staring at the pink, twitching parts.

His cunt abruptly yawned, shuddering and shivering with droplets of slick flying from it. Spy watched it all, not caring that his face was centimeters from it all, rather, he simply enjoyed as the whole spectacle played out before him.

Lawrence huffed and puffed for a minute or two before he remembered the concept of language. “D… do… do you think… I'm ready?” He asked shakily, grateful now more than ever for his biology. If nothing else, he'd always have the ability to brag over card games that he was able to wank off half a dozen times in a row, if he'd wanted to.

“Do you?” The Frenchman asked, though he was removing his underpants, at long last.

He nodded. “Yeah… yeah, I reckon so.” If the key was getting him relaxed, then they weren't gonna do much better than this. He could barely feel anything but warm numbness down there, but that was quickly fading as he got a glimpse of what he was packing. Fuck. How long had he been going with a seven inch lead pipe between his legs? He must have been going insane this whole time.

His gaze didn't linger out of fear, really! It was just, he'd never seen one before. It was massive, at least, it was bigger than any toys he owned, red, hot and heavy and dripping with precum.

Francis glanced up and saw Lawrence staring. He gave a lusty, self sure smile. “Don't worry,” he assured the Aussie as he climbed on top of him. “I'll be very gentle.” He felt a nudge at his hole. Something that was definitely not a finger.

The head rubbed up and down his gooey, sensitive, twitching slot, dripping with something warm and gooey, and Sniper felt a new warmth of sexual excitement fill him, much faster than when he touched himself.

“Open your legs more,” he nearly moaned, prodding at the hole one more time. Sniper took hold of his thighs, just above his knees, and pulled them apart. Spy settled between them, negating the use of hands, which went back to draping around Francis. Now, Lawrence was resting chest to chest with him, his dick dangerously close to going in. There was still a twinge of nervousness, but not near the tear-inducing anguish it had been. This was going to happen. And he wanted it to.

Spy pushed in slowly. The hard, hot presence filled Lawrence’s entrance, and then kept going, further than any finger would've been able to reach. Stars sparked in his vision. Lawrence made a noise that was a combination of “oh,” and “god” as Francis’s face grimaced, then smirked as he opened his eyes to stare at his trembling, moaning partner.

“Tight,” he grunted as Sniper babbled a breathy, incoherent mantra of affirmatives and pleas to continue. “Almost… in…”

_You're not in yet?!_ But his throat wouldn't form any words. There were only moans, whimpers, the occasional wince as something raw was rubbed unexpectedly. All he could seem to do was moan, “_oh god, oh god, oh, ohhh, oh god,_” over and over again.

Lawrence felt himself inclined upward and his hips bend up just a bit. Enough to look down and see what was going on if he just gathered the strength to open his eyes. This must have been the plan, due to the next command he was issued.

“Look.”

He did. Holy shit, it was the hottest fucking thing he'd ever fucking seen. The Spy's dick was nearly halfway in, a vein pulsating in that he could very much feel inside him, flushed and hard as a rock as it eased into his quivering, dripping snatch. And everything it touched exploded with pure pleasure. As he kept on pressing in, Lawrence kept up his moaning, which seemed to increase the density in the hard mass that pressed further and further in. There was no pain. No popping, accompanied by a rush of blood that spilled onto the bed. No ripping, tearing, or agony, just pleasure and stretching. Perfect, amazing, full-feeling stretching.

Finally, Francis sank to his hilt. He pulled his chest away, propping himself up on his elbows on either side of Sniper’s head as he sighed in pure ecstasy. Their hips pressed against each other, he was stretched wide around him, so full. This felt more natural than breathing. He could feel the weight of the Spy's balls, hot and plump and full, resting against his ass and ready for release.

“Feel good?” The Frenchman grunted.

“So… so good, love, _ohhhh fuck_, I need- please, I need you to move, _fuck_, oh my god, _fuck me_-”

He chuckled, and obliged. For a few seconds, he just sat there, getting a feel for how deep he could go and how tight and wet and hot he was. But slowly, so fucking slowly, he pulled his hips away, pulling out so far that his tip was all that remained within Sniper. Then he rolled his hips back in, a bit quicker, eager to escape the cold. After a few way-too-slow but far-too-much rolls, Sniper felt stars explode behind his eyes. Had it not been automatic, he would have forgotten how to let himself breathe. After only minutes of this torture, Lawrence was murmuring out a plea for him to go faster. The pace quickened, and quickened, and within seconds it was so fast he could feel Spy's balls slapping his ass with the force of the fucking. It was like his cries were being forced out of him with each impact.

Spy, for once, seemed to have nothing to say. Rather, he only growled softly, occasionally kissing Lawrence on the neck. He was in heaven. Despite the orgasm needed to prepare him, the sniper was still tight as a vice, gripping his cock with a shivering, tense heat that one simply couldn't achieve with a bottle of lotion and his own fantasies. He pistoned his hips into his partner yet faster, and Lawrence was rocking back with no small amount of desperation as his ankles crossed tightly around the frenchmans waist, frantically trying to achieve more friction.

And, judging by the noises he was making, it didn't seem to hurt, as he had feared.

He took hold of the Sniper’s legs and pushed them up, lying back on top of him as he somehow increased the pace. Each thrust seemed to carry him deeper, and he pulled out a little less each time, part of him just wanting to stay against the silky, spasming, holy shit completely unused walls as the marksman clutched him desperately.

Sniper's hips were beyond his control, rocking rhythmically with Francis’s and creating a sweet, sexy as fuck slap of flesh with each time they met. Between whispers of praise and compliments, Francis planted toothy, intermittent kisses all over his face, nipping at the flesh.

“Mon deu, so tight,” he muttered, now pistoning his hips wildly. He and Sniper were rocking so hard the bed shook. “Lawrence, mon fleur…” he took handfuls of Sniper’s hair and tugged it gently. “You really… _were_… a virgin…”

“Fuck! Oh fuck! Oh god!” All rationality, all ability to form reasonable, coherent sentences had been fucked out of him, all that was left was expletives. He continued to scream yeses and beg for the spy to keep going, please, oh fuck, Francis please, don't stop, and no longer cared if the team could hear as he felt Spy's cock pulse inside him in such a way that hurried him toward his second climax. “Spook- oh Christ, holy fuck, spook, I'm gonna come-” Spy was barely pulling out now, apparently unwilling to leave the hot, quivering, wet confines of the Aussie’s tunnel. It started to pulse inside him, which shoved him hard into the oncoming bus that was his climax. “_Oh fuck spook I'm so bloody close don't stop please -please, fuck, oh- oh god oh FUCK-_”

He'd never had a better orgasm. His cunt didn't just yawn. It screamed. A shuddering, earth-breaking pleasure. His insides clamped down hard on the intruding organ, whose thrusting didn't cease through the entire thing. Spy was staring down at him through the entire thing, fingers entwined in slightly-curly hair as their assassin practically wailed his completion. It was a sensation that consumed everything Sniper was, a feeling he was unable to handle but at the same time unable to live without.

Francis growled, “my turn,” as Lawrence’s snatch continued to twitch and spasm, used through its post-coital bliss as Spy's thrusting became way too fast. He didn't think, didn't even hesitate, all he could do was allow his instincts to take over as his urge to complete the task set in. He moaned with each thrust, his balls heavier than black holes as they slapped Sniper sore, his dick a throbbing, white-hot lead pipe which pulsed eagerly, ready for release as a kind of animalistic urge took over the once-classy Frenchman.

Spy gathered sniper into a loose, sloppy kiss , finally, he pushed in as far as he could, going very still, and Sniper felt the dick pulsate faster and faster, and then finally explode inside him. Ribbons of hot cum came, his hips twitching firmly down as wave after wave coated his organs in thick, hot bursts. Sniper felt the heat spread inside him, filling him up, as Spy’s face twisted and scrunched, finally relaxing with a sigh as his dick slowly deflated.

They lay there for a moment, both sweaty and panting and completely spent in the moment of incredible intimacy. Eventually, though, Francis pulled his dick out with a slick sound that sent shivers down his spine, and peered down at his handiwork. A creamy white dribble of cum oozed out of the hole, mingling amongst the sweat and slick.

He stepped away from the bed, something Sniper couldn't have done if he wanted to, as his legs felt as if they'd been replaced with jelly. He didn't pay attention to where he went, as he was too busy trying to remember the concept of language, but when he returned, he was carrying what looked to be one of the doc’s medical basins and some towels, one of which he dipped in the basin and brought dangerously close to Lawrence’s cunt, as the marksman attempted to shut his thighs.

“Spy- no, you don't gotta-” he started to protest as Spy gently pressed the sopping, weak legs apart.

“Oh don't I?” He began wiping the inside of his legs, close but not where he'd just been. That deadpan look he gave was somehow hotter without the mask. “You are in no state to return to your own quarters, and while some may be content to wallow in their own filth, I will not have you sullying my sheets.”

Sniper flushed, decisively staring at the ceiling as he neared his sensitive privates with the warm towel. “‘S’Best as I recall, some of it’s your filth.”

He expected a reprimand of some kind, but Spy only chuckled. “Yes. I am very good about making things stay where I want them, though.”

The towel touched his soaked, trembling, sullied snatch, and Sniper shuddered. Not nearly as hot as it had been, but pleasant as the warm towel wiped at his shivering parts. Spy cleaned between each fold, even carefully dabbed at his back entrance. Slowly, the warm feeling drained away, though his insides remained feeling full and warm, and Sniper just felt exhausted.

Francis helped his (no longer) virgin partner crawl beneath the sheets on his bed, and stared at him lying there as he set about cleaning himself. “How was your first experience, Mon Amor?”

“Mmh… Bloody incredible,” he breathed, barely able to keep his eyes open. “Was… was I any good?”

The mattress shifted beside him, and Spy kissed him on his hair. “Good enough that I would much like to do this again.”

“Wouldn't be very professional.”

“It was not professional to lose your virginity to a colleague. Yet here we are.”

Sniper sighed sleepily, eyes slipping shut. “Yeah, I know. Most embarrassing point of my career.”

Spy was silent, tense, until Lawrence curled back into him, enjoying the smell of sweat and cologne. “Didn't say I didn't like it.”

Immediately the tension left, and Spy allowed himself to begin slipping into his own blissful post-coital unconsciousness. “Tsk, very irresponsible mom Cheri. Suppose I were the kind to brag about my escapades?”

“What, you're not gonna brag, are you love?”

“Now, now, I have more class than that, mon amor.”

Sniper gave a soft, tired, rumbly chuckle. “More class than Chad, lemme tell ya.”

He fell asleep before he could elabourate.

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, you made it to the end! Congrats! I hope my story wasn't too terrible, and you at least found it funny. 
> 
> Full disclosure; my knowledge of sex is not due to personal experience. So yeah.


End file.
